The Eleventh Day of Christmas

Santa had been curious about how Lars and Drew were going to turn out, but the spell had been so strong both of them had fallen back to sleep immediately, and he was almost done with his long night. Still…there was one person–and one fuck–he hadn’t quite been able to get out of his mind all night long. The Christmas party at the Bear’s Den was still going strong, even though the doors had been locked–that just meant it was time for the orgy. And one of the star players, there in the middle of it all, wearing his “Sexy Santa 2013” sash was Claude, a slender cub in a sling, and he was drilling his hole while the young man groaned.

“You like Santa’s present for you this year boy?”

“Oh yes sir! Thank you Santa…” the cub said, and Santa smirked. He hadn’t gotten a present from the real Santa yet, but he had an idea of what to give him. Claude gave a groan as he felt something change in the cub’s ass, and suddenly he could feel the muscles of the chute working overdrive, vibrating and pulling at his cock. The cub was just as surprised, as his super powered ass flooded him with pleasure, and his cock shot a huge load even as Claude buried in deep, unable to hold back any longer, and then stumbled back, letting another bear take his turn with the cub’s magic, sucking ass.

Claude looked over his shoulder, panting a bit, and smiled when he saw Santa sitting on a barstool, watching him back. He strode over and gave Santa’s nipple a tweak, and grinned, “I thought you couldn’t make the party?”

“Well, it looks like I made it to the after party after all. Besides, I didn’t want to have to compete against you,” he said, lifting Claude’s banner and winking, chuffing on his cigar, “I’m afraid it might have been a bit hard to go up against the real thing.” Claude could sense that Santa had something he was trying to work up to saying, but he wasn’t sure what exactly. He didn’t say anything back, letting Santa mull it over, before it finally spilled out. “You know, it was a year ago today that the old bitch I had hanging around for the last few centuries up and ditched me for some cubans in Miami, can you believe that?”

“Heh, well, it doesn’t seem like you’re missing her much.”

“I’m not…” Santa said, and stood up off the barstool, putting his arms around Claude, “It’s been a wild year, but…I miss…I suppose what I mean to say, is if you feel like freezing your ass off in some chaps at the North Pole, there’s a position open…if you don’t mind hanging around for a good long while.”

Claude grinned, took Santa’s cigar and puffed on it, “My ass was that good eh?”

“Heh…yeah, your ass was that good–and the rest of you isn’t bad either. So what do you say?”

“I suppose you can call me Mr. Claus if you want,” Claude said, and gave Santa a deep kiss, feeling the old man’s relief flood into him in a breath of immortality, feeling full of energy all over again, their cocks hardening together…and his was even getting bigger. In fact, he was changing again, but more subtly this time, his bread thicker and growing down to his chest, a thick pelt of white hair filling in across his body, and when he pulled back, and looked at his new husband, it honestly felt like it was meant to be.

“Come on, I want you to fuck me in the sleigh, big boy,” Santa said, gripping Claude’s new, thick cock, “Santa can’t do all the fucking after all.”

The First Day of Christmas

It was Christmas Eve, the sun had already set early, and Claude was at the computer, looking at the invitation again. It wasn’t an invitation to him exactly–everyone on Growlr in a fifty mile radius had received the shout from The Bear’s Den downtown.

Come on down to The Bear’s Den for our Annual Christmas XXXtravaganza!

Half price well drinks, Sexy Santa costume contest, featuring DJ Cubootie rocking the dance floor!

He didn’t read any more–the party had started an hour ago, and he wasn’t going. Sure, he wanted to go, but why would he? At a little over 50, he wasn’t exactly ready to breakdown on the dance floor anymore, and with the diabetes meds he couldn’t hold his liquor at all, either. Sure, with his big gut and thick white beard he’d make a good Santa, but not a very sexy one in his mind. Still, he also didn’t want to be alone on Christmas again, in this cold empty house, no kids, no life, no work. What was the point of staying here? Then again, what was the point of going?

“Ho, ho ho! Now that looks like a party!” the deep voice said behind him, and Claude spun around, finding himself staring at Santa’s burly chest and round gut, barely constrained by his red leather harness. He dusted a bit of soot off his pec and winked at Claude, “Wish I could go, but you know how it is this time of year! Too many toys to deliver, too many men to please…” he added, leaning in closer to Claude. He smelled of cum, sweat, smoke, and gingerbread, and somehow all of that rendered Claude’s cock hard as a rock.

“S-S-Santa?” Claude managed to squeak out, “What…what happened to your…suit?”

“Oh Claude, it’s a brand new look!” Santa said, “and you know Claude, you’ve been far too good this year–isn’t it time you were a little bit naughty? Now, how about we get you to that party?”

Before Claude could react, Santa had slung his rubber sack off his shoulder and threw it over Claude, trapping him inside and hauling him away, Claude fighting against the constricting rubber as he felt the things inside the sack come alive and cluster around him, ripping apart his clothes in the process. He was screaming as Santa hauled him up through the chimney, flung him in the back of the sleigh, and took off, his nine beasty reindeer-men hauling the sleigh across the city, before sliding to a rest on the roof of the Bear’s Den.

Claude was still squirming and screaming inside the rubber bag, as Santa hauled him out of the sleigh and dropped down into the alley beside the bar, opened up the bag and let Claude come tumbling out. Gone were his pajamas and ratty T-shirt–he was wearing a red leather vest with white fur trim, red leather chaps, and heavy boots. His skin stung all across his body, and he saw that something had tattooed him all up and down his arms with candy cane striped cocks. His hair had been shorn off and his beard trimmed, and he looked down at himself, and all he could think about was how sexy he felt.

Santa let out a growl, sliding a gloved hand between Claude’s chubby ass cheeks, feeling the fat man squirm, pushing his butt towards Santa’s cock, suddenly unable to control the desires and fantasies which had been welling up in him for as long as he could remember. “You want Santa’s cock?”

“Oh fuck yeah, fuck me Santa…” Claude moaned, and Nicholas was more than happy to slide his nine inch cook deep into Claude’s hungry hole. Santa came rather quickly–he had many other visits to make as well, after all, and then fumbled around in his bag, pulling out a candy cane striped dildo, and shoved it into Claude’s well worked hole, the curved end sticking out for everyone to see.

“Alright Claude, get in there and have some fun,” Santa said.

“Fuck yeah, I can’t fuckin’ wait,” Claude moaned, working the candy cane as he walked up to the bouncer of the bar, giving him a deep kiss in lieu of ID. Santa just smirked and leapt back up onto the roof, taking off into the evening, off to his next stop.

“Fuck Santa, you’re such a slut,” Marty said, watching his boss drain two elven cocks at once, his mouth big enough for both of their modestish members to fit in together in he opened real wide. The elves were both fucking wildly, close to the edge, and they came nearly together, Santa drinking down as much as he could, but one cock popped out, spraying cum across his already sticky, white beard, which he licked up hungrily.

“Hey, can I fuckin’ help it that your elf cum tastes so fuckin’ delicious?” Santa said, following it up with his a boisterous “Ho, ho, ho!”

Saint Nick had undergone a rather severe change of heart, for those two weeks he was hooked up to those tanks, pumped full of cum and Marty’s magic whisky, the elf visiting him every day, implanting new desires, filthy perversions, preparing him for a whole new kind of Christmas. It was already quickly turning to fall, the weather growing colder as the nights deepened, but Santa had spent much of it working out, bulking up to a sizable muscle bear, though he never did lose his gut entirely–it was usually brimming with too much elf cum to not bulge out obscenely in front of him, as he wandered the workshop, inspecting–and testing–the toys, whipping and punishing the elves that slacked off, sucking and fucking as much elf cock as he could find, perpetually starved for their cum, after his prolonged exposure.

The elves were still working on his final look for his Christmas ride, but Santa was never wearing anything other than leather or rubber these days. He was feeling sexy at the moment, wearing leather chaps and boots, sleigh bells hanging and jingling from his newly pierced nipples, cum drooling off the PA in the head of his cock, shrouded by his thick foreskin. While he still smoked pipes on occasion, he’d branched out, today opting for thick, foul smelling cigars, and he pushed a plume into Marty’s face, watching the head elf scowl a bit. “What did you want to show me anyway, Marty? And do you want to show me before or after I drain a few loads from those balls of yours?” Santa asked.

“Heh, after I think–you might want to see what I have for you down in the stables first,” Marty said.

His curiosity piqued, Santa followed the burly elf out of the workshop and across the snowy ground to the large stables. The elf flung open the doors, and Santa looked at the nine young men bound up on the straw in the stable. “Wait…what did you do with the reindeer?”

“Oh, nothing you need to worry about–I just thought our new Santa could use some new steeds to pull him around in the night, what do you think? I found nine of the hottest, sluttiest guys just for you. Now, don’t you think they could use some Christmas magic?”

Marty pulled out a small pouch, opened the drawstring and dusted the first man he came to with the powder, and they watched the young man start to writhe and squirm on the ground, his body expanding with thick muscle which was quickly coated with a fine dusting of brown hair. At the same time, two bony antlers were growing out of the man’s temples as he snorted and grunted, exploding out of his clothing, his cock angry and red. Curious, Santa walked up and ran his hand along the shaft, feeling the cock pulse and lengthen in his hand, the head growing redder until it began to glow a deep, throbbing red in the dark stable.

“Now that’s what I’d like guiding me in the foggy nights,” Santa said, stroking his new reindeer slut, getting his hand coated with Rudolf’s cum and licking it off his palm.

Marty tossed Santa the sack of powder, “Have at it Sir Claus, if you’re still thirsty afterwards, you know where to find me.”

Santa, however, was happy fucking with his new reindeer for the next few days, but now the anticipation was killing him–at last, it was Christmas Eve, his reindeer were hitched to his sleigh, his red leather harness lined with white fur, heavy brown leather biker boots, red latex chaps which stopped at his knees revealing his half hard cock. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his usual hat. In the back of the sleigh were huge, black rubber bags, stuffed full of naughty toys for naughty boys and men, all over the world. With one last, deep kiss to Marty, Santa off into the sky, the beginning of his long, wild ride.

And he had so many adventures that night, I suppose I’ll have to spend the twelve days of Christmas telling you all about them.

It was April outside, but for Saint Nicholas, the days and nights had all blended together into one long jack off session, one long night, his arm aching, magazine pages stuck together with his cum, calling for another bottle of whisky from his elves, Marty and Timmy never batting an eye at his state, Santa too busy engrossed in his very naughty porn to even think about preparing for Christmas at this time of year. He was months behind–if the elves didn’t start up the toy production soon, they would never be ready in time, but then again, Marty had taken it upon himself to start getting the workshop up and running. Dildos, collars, harnesses, poppers, pipes, cigars, slings–everything for the naughty men of the world. Marty was tired of making toys–Marty wanted to fuck–and with his magic whisky, it seemed like Christmas was his for the taking.

That is, until he’d forgotten to deliver his whisky to Nicholas for a day, and a very hung over fat man, his body crusted with cum, stumbled out of his study, wondering what had come over him. No one was in the house, but the workshop lights were on–he threw on his coat and crossed the compound, entering the workshop, where he found his elves, leathered and rubbered up, crafting all of the sex toys any man could want, and he nearly screamed. He looked up and saw Marty on the upper level overseeing the workers, and glared at him, the elf’s face growing pale as he fled deeper into the factory.

“Marty? Marty!” Santa called, hurrying up the stairs and chasing after him, “What in the hell have you done!” He chased him down a hallway and into a dark room, where something slammed into the back of his head, and Santa crumpled to the floor, out like a light.

When he woke up half an hour later, the elves had been busy. He was in a small room in the bowels of the workshop, handcuffed, his hands pulled up high, and his usual red suit was gone–replaced by a red rubber singlet and a white leather harness, his cock exposed and rigid, connected to two tubes–one shoved up his ass, and the second down his throat.

“Guess I’m just going to have to keep you around here from now on, eh Santa?” Marty said, dressed in leather chaps and harness, Timmy next to him, collared and leashed with a gimp mask over his face.

Santa tried to speak, but couldn’t get anything out, especially after the thick, creamy substance started emptying from the tanks next to him into his guts and bowels. Some of it was the same whisky Marty had been feeding him for months now, but the cream was something else…it was…cum. He could read it on the side of the tanks, and he shuddered.

“Don’t worry Santa, we’ll have you addicted to all of our cum in a few days–then I’m sure you won’t be objecting to my new Christmas plans. In fact, by December, I’m sure you’ll be as excited as I am about all the toys you’ll be delivering to naughty boys around the world.”

Marty laughed and left the room, Santa struggling against the cuffs, the whisky already working against his mind. He had to do something–he had to try and save Christmas from Marty, that crazy, demented…sexy elf was going to ruin everything. Fuck, when Santa got his hands on him he’d…he’d fucking suck that cock of his, drain his elf balls of every drop of cum he could find…yeah…Marty had better watch his back–and that was his last thought before he fell back into his haze, gut bloated with cum, already excited for next Christmas to come around.

It was the day after Christmas, and Santa was exhausted. He’d already been up for close to seventy-two hours, and he’d come home to discover that Mrs. Claus had packed up her stuff and moved to Miami, where she was probably fucking some beach bunny’s brains out right this very moment, and he was stuck in this perpetual snowy night. She’d been acting strange over the last few months though–and just up and leaving on Christmas? He’d have to fly down there and try talking some sense into her. He poured himself a (sixth? seventh?) tumbler of whisky and knocked it back, rubbing his cock through his jockstrap.

He was horny, of all things to be, and he rummaged around for his secret stash of Maxim, but in it’s place was something else. A stack of magazines with names like “Leather Elf”, “Sexy Santas”, and “Nicely Naughty Men.”

“What the fuck is all this?” he grumbled? Flipping through the pages of a “Leather Elf,” looking at the muscular midgets posing their muscled, chubby and lithe bodies, some of them tied down, some of them hooded, some of them with the biggest fucking cocks…dribbling cum.

He grabbed his cock, checking to make sure he was as hard as he’d thought he was. What the hell? He’d never been turned on by this sort of stuff before, but one or two naughty wanks wouldn’t hurt. Besides, no one would ever know…right? Just to be sure, he walked over and locked the door to his study before jacking off to the magazine’s pictures, drinking more and more whisky as he came over and over again, moaning too loud to hear the elfin snickers from the keyhole.

“He’s actually fuckin’ reading it Marty! What was in that whisky?”

“The same shit that sent that prudish ‘Miss. Claus’ down to Miami for some thick cuban cock,” the other one said around a cigar, reaching down and fingering his fellow elf’s asshole, feeling him shiver.

“Let’s give him a month or two to get adjusted though, before we move onto the next step. Still, I have a feeling 2013 is going to have a very naughty Santa visiting everyone’s homes,” he said with a chuckle.

“Alright, I have more cookies for you!” your friend said from the kitchen.

“What? More? But I can’t…” you say, but he’s already out in the living room and setting the tray piled high with snickerdoodles down next to you, and they smell so divine. You have one in your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“I’ll get you some more milk too, just a second,” he says, and disappears back into the kitchen. Ten cookies are gone before he comes back with a tall pitcher–you just can’t stop yourself. This has been going on for a few hours now–him baking these amazing cookies, you eating them with an apparently bottomless supply of milk. He leaves, and alone again, you notice something in the TV playing some Christmas movie–a strange reflection in the screen. You reach for the remote and turn it off–and get a better look in the black screen.

“Ho Ho Holy shit!” You exclaim. That isn’t you there on the couch, that’s some fat old man with a giant white beard.

Your friend runs back in from the kitchen, “You weren’t supposed to notice yet!”

“What in the hell did you do to me?” you shout, looking down at your clothing stretched tight across your fat frame, but your friend has already grabbed something from a side table–a pipe, ready packed with tobacco, and he shoves it in your mouth and lights it. You inhale, the cinnamon and clove laced tobacco making your face numb…and you feel…really good, all of a sudden.

“Here, let’s get you out of those clothes–they’re too tight.”

You let your friend undress you, and you stare down in disbelief at your new body. The tobacco is going right to your head, and it feels so good to smoke your pipe and rub your hairy belly with your hands…

“Now go sit down, finish your cookies and milk, and smoke your pipe, Santa.”

“Ho Ho Hokay…” you say, and plop back down on the couch.

Your friend works in the kitchen for a bit and comes out to find the pile gone, the pitcher empty, and your pipe finished. He cleans, refills and lights it for you, then gives you a deep kiss, and you wrap your flabby arms around him and pull him into your lap.

“So tell me, have you been a good boy this year?” you say with a lecherous grin.

“Oh yes Santa, I’ve been very good all year, just for you.”

“Well in that case, Santa has a special sack for you. Why don’t you suck on it for a bit?”

Your friend gets down between your legs, and sucks on your big balls, your dick pressed against his face, smearing precum across his forehead. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fucking tonight, you think, and ram your candy cane down his throat.